


The last time

by maniac_pixie_dreamgirl



Series: Red [4]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 10:02:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maniac_pixie_dreamgirl/pseuds/maniac_pixie_dreamgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a deep breath he takes the pain out of his system and hides it away. There will come the time when he will mourn, tears will be shed, weakness will be shown.<br/><em>But today is not this day, </em> thinks Enjolras splashing the cold water over his face, wiping shadows of the sorrow away.</p><p>College AU. Thirteen friends. Five love stories. One cat. (Two now)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The last time

**Author's Note:**

> My Beta left me... Anyone willing to replace him?  
> ETA:nvm I have two now. I love you all so much I can't even xxx

_It’s one of those rare days when everyone is happy_ , thinks Enjolras hanging his jacket on the chair. His apartment is unusually empty today, their weekly meeting cancelled. All of his friends are out- celebrating their little victories.

Courfeyrac is somewhere loud, outdrinking everyone in Southern London. Today is like a national holiday for him- passing the psychology exam was not an easy task, but he managed to get a B. It’s his first B in two years (Courfeyrac is a straight C student) and he is very proud of it, showing the red mark to everyone, whether they want to see it or not.  
Bahorel, Bossuet, Grantaire, Jehan and Feuilly are all with him, sharing their personal reasons for happiness, pouring them into glasses, letting them melt in alcohol.  
Bossuet is delighted because the bartender asked him for an I.D. today- something that hasn’t happened since he had lost all of his hair.  
Feuilly because, by some miracle from high above, polish football team scored a goal against Ukraine (they still lost 3:1 tough).  
Bahorel is celebrating the best sex of his life, Jehan is drinking because he finally finished his newest poem “The Ode to the Missing Sock” and Grantaire, well Grantaire doesn’t need a reason to get drunk, nevertheless, he has one- some rich asshat wants him to draw illustrations for his next book. _And he is willing to pay._

So with half of Les Amis drinking themselves into the oblivion, and Marius and Cosette being on their first official date, with Musichetta and Eponine having a ladies night out and Combeferre and Joly partying with their fellow medical students, Enjolras is alone. He likes being alone, enjoys the silence slipping through his fingers and the freedom of doing whatever he wants to. It’s easier for him to be himself, when no one is watching.

Ignoring the tiredness in his legs, he takes out the box of cat food and proceeds to feed Vendetta a.k.a. Brandy Alexander. Despite being crazy Johnnie loved one, the cat turned out to be extremely sensible, calm, majestic even and Enjolras finds himself getting more and more attached to her. He strokes the ginger fur in the middle of the night, scratches her ears while trying to concentrate, cuddles her in his sleep on the lonely nights.  
Because contrary to the popular belief Enjolras does get lonely from time to time. He’s not a robot, a machine, a marble statue or whatever else Granaire calls him when he’s drunk.  
Enjolras shakes the gloomy feeling off, he isn’t in a mood to be dwelling on his lonely soul, his day is way too good for that. Because finally today, after miles of emails, hundreds of text messages and hours of phone conversations he met Jean Lamarque- the man that inspired Enjolras to make a change.  
 _The meeting went almost perfect_ , he thinks and his mind starts replaying everything that happened.

❈❈❈

Enjolras is standing in the arrivals area, card with Lamarque’s name in his hands. He feels small drops of sweat sliding down his back. With a tingling sensation Enjolras realizes that he is nervous and novelty of that feeling startles him a little bit- he never gets nervous, not when he has to give a speech in front of hundreds of people, not when the cops are interrogating him, guns hanging from their belts, not even when some thugs corner him in the middle of the night. Enjolras has got the nerves of steel, but right now they start to fret.  
 _How long does it take to get through the baggage claim?_

Finally Enjolras’ eyes spot an elderly man with a thin face, thoroughly shaved jaw and unusual features- stern, gentle and wise at the same time.  
Lamarque reads the sign Enjolras is holding and his lips curl up in a smile.

“It’s an honor to be able to finally meet you sir,” says Enjolras his voice cracking at the last syllable. He feels so small, so inadequate like a little child. Lamarque ignores Enjolras’ outstretched hand and pulls him into a big hug.

“Right back at you kid. Call me sir one more time and I’ll ignore you- it’s J.M. to you.” Lamarque’s smile is contagious and Enjolras grins a little bit as well.

“Do you want me to take you to a hotel now ss… so you can rest a little bit? The flight must have been very tiring.”

“At my age even walking down the stairs is tiring. Let’s grab a coffee first, the caffeine sticks my bones together, I will fall apart without it.”

Enjolras is flabbergasted, he didn’t expect Lamarque to be so informal, so approachable. He nods his head a little bit too eagerly and drives them to his favorite café in Notting Hill- the Coffee Plant. They sit inside, hot steam warming their noses. And even after the thirty minutes’ drive filled with friendly conversation; in which Lamarque found out everything about Enjolras- his major, family situation, passions; Enjolras still can’t get used to the fact, that he is talking face to face with his idol, the person who devoted his whole life to changing the world.

He is in the middle of recapitulating the plan of the manifestation, when Lamarque interrupts him.

“Are you dating anyone?”

The straightforwardness of this question leaves Enjolras speechless. He is staring at Lamarque, the coffee mug frozen halfway to his mouth.

“Sorry for being so blunt about it, it’s just you remind me of the person I was so many years ago. Focused only on the case, sheltered, convinced I don’t need anyone in my life… And it was good, it was good for a while, but believe me- your ideals won’t keep you warm in the night. It’s impossible to do all of this alone Enjolras”

“I am not alone, I’ve got friends.” This conversation is starting to get awkward.

“That’s nice. But the better world isn’t so good, when you don’t have anyone to share it with,” sighs Lamarque, his eyes numbed with sadness.

And before he can’t stop himself, Enjolras asks.

“Do you have someone like that?”

The wrinkles under Lamarques eyes fall even lower and suddenly his face is thinner, too much skin and too little flesh cupping his bones.

“There was someone, so many years ago, but I was too stupid to appreciate him, too caught up in my own fight to fight for him. And then just like that he was gone, slowly becoming my biggest regret.” Lamarque finishes his coffee in one go and looks through the window, focusing on something that isn’t even there.

Enjolras fiddles with a plastic spoon, feeling strangely out of place. He knows, that the old man would prefer to be left alone now, but they came in one car, so he stays, silently contemplating Lamarque’s story.

“I think I’m ready to go back to the hotel,” says Lamarque, the smile reappearing on his lips, the sadness suppressed to the corners of his eyes.

Enjolras nods and they leave. He drops Lamarque off at the hotel, helping him with his luggage, trying to be as lighthearted as he was twenty minutes ago. Goodbyes are said and Lamarque messes Enjolras hair.

“I believe you will do great things kiddo- you have the power to change the world. Just don’t forget to be human as well as revolutionist”.  
And just like that he leaves Enjolras alone on the pavement.

“See you tomorrow!” screams Enjolras just before Lamarque enters the hotel, his idol waving in response.

 _He is amazing_ , thinks Enjolras starting the engine. There is a warm feeling in his chest- finally he met someone, who understands him, someone who shares his beliefs. Together they can make a change, they will make a change.

❈❈❈

Enjolras wakes up with his face half immersed into the couch. His neck is stiff and there is a splash of crusted saliva on his chin. He must have fallen asleep. The room is dark and cold, long shadows casted on the floor, it must be a middle of the night. Enjolras swears under his breath and rolls from the couch. Only then he notices his phone blinking furiously without a sound- he turned it silent, when he was picking Lamarque up, not wanting Grantaire drunken texts to disturb them. Enjolras flats the tangled mess of his hair and looks at the screen, half-expecting it to be Bahorel or Grantaire. It’s neither.

“What’s up Ferre?” he asks trying to rub the sleep out of his face.

“Have you seen the news?” Combeferre voice is worried and not even a little bit drunk. Enjolras heart sinks.

“No I didn’t get a chance to, I’ve fallen asleep. What time is it?”

Combeferre is silent for a minute and it’s not a good sign. When he speaks, his words are chosen carefully, cautious like footsteps on a broken glass.

“We’ll be there in a few minutes. Everything will be ok.”

“What are you talking about? What happened Ferre, tell me. Is everyone alright?”

“We are fine. Talk to you later.” Combeferre hangs up leaving Enjolras worried out of his mind. _What could have made his best friend so upset? Why did he called him in the middle of the night? Why is he leaving the party out of the blue?_ All those questions are making Enjolras head spin.  
He recalls Combeferre talking something about the news. Desperately trying to calm himself down Enjolras turns the TV on. It’s 3am, the public channels aren’t broadcasting anymore, so Enjolras finds BBC news and sits back on his couch, his heart caught in his throat.

Right now they are showing some footage of the conflict in Korea and since there is no way, Combeferre was calling him in the middle of the night, to warn him about the possible war in Asia, there has to be something else. So Enjolras waits, holding his breath in the anticipation of the worst. And then the reportage changes and Enjolras heart bursts and his eyes blur and there is no more air in the room. Not only in the room- Enjolras is sure that there is no air left in the whole world, he is positive that, at this very second, everything, every atom is dissolving itself into the emptiness. Because there is no way that the world can still be existing after what he had just seen. He had just talked to him few hours ago so this can’t be happening. It’s impossible.  
There is no more blood, flesh or bones in Enjolras body, they’ve been replaced by anger, pain and disbelief. He slips down from the couch, covering his face with trembling hands.

Half an hour later Combeferre and Joly find him in the exact same position- curled up in front of the couch, knees pressed to his chin, his body bent by sadness and desperation.

“Oh my God Enjolras, I am so sorry,” says Combeferre pulling his best friend close, wrapping him in a tight hug.

Enjolras doesn’t respond, his expression blank, his eyes empty. He’s not crying anymore, there are no more tears left in his body. Joly kneels beside him, passing him some tablets ( _It will calm you down_ , he says). Enjolras muscles relax a little bit, but the brutally blunt headline is still replaying itself in his mind. 8 words shattering his word time after time.  
“Human rights activist stabbed to death in London.” Human rights activist stabbed to death in London. _Stabbed. To death. Death._ The images of Lamarque’s smiling face and the body bag merge into one in Enjolras brain. The reassuring words from Combeferre are being silenced by the journalist voice.  
“Jean Maximillien Lamarque, aged sixty-four was found death in South-East London at 2am today. The police has not found the attacker yet, but they are suspecting the murder to be an act of homophobia. Lamarque was known for his human rights involvement as well as being the active member of an LBGT rights organization Act Up. He was supposed to give a speech on inequality in Kennington Park on Wednesday.”

Whispering soothing words like an enchantment, Combeferre switches the TV off. Enjolras flinches, waking up from a trance. He notices the front door opening and the sea of people pours in. There’s drunk Courfeyrac, equally pissed Bahorel and even drunken Grantaire, there’s Eponine with worry written all over her face and Marius strangely pale behind his freckles. There’s more of them, but Enjolras just can’t look. He stands up and, before any of them decides to ask him how he’s doing, or even worse, tell him how sorry they are, he heads into the bathroom. Digging his fingertips into the cold edge of the sink, he stares at his reflection. Pale face, scared eyes, sadness printed into his mouth- he barely recognizes himself. He doesn’t want to be seen like this. Remembering Lamarque’s legacy he straightens up, hardening the look in his eyes. With a deep breath he takes the pain out of his system and hides it away. There will come the time when he will mourn, tears will be shed, weakness will be shown.  
 _But today is not this day_ , thinks Enjolras splashing the cold water over his face, wiping shadows of the sorrow away. He will commemorate Lamarque’s death by staying strong. The manifestation mustn’t be cancelled and the show must go on.

❈❈❈

Sympathetic looks surrounds Enjolras as he leaves the bathroom.

“I am alright,” he answers the unspoken question hanging in the air.

“Are you really?” Courfeyrac doesn’t seem to be convinced.

“Yes I am.”

“Cool, so can we put the news back on? I want to know if they found the son of the bitch, who killed him,” Bahorel is as tactful as always. It’s kind of reassuring actually, knowing that no matter what happens, Bahorel will always say something inappropriate.  
Enjolras ignores the concerned faces of his friends and turns the TV on. He takes up a spot on the couch, between clearly shaken Feuilly and Jehan, who looks like he is about to cry. And the redhead is not the only one with tears in his eyes- Cosette is silently sobbing in the corner with Marius rubbing circles on her back.

They watch the news in silence, but it’s just too much for some of them, Jehan especially. The fragile heart of the poet can’t bear the gory images- his face pales down to the point of being lime and Courfeyrac decides to take him to his and Marius’ flat. They leave on wobbly legs- Courfeyrac’s knees weakened by the extreme amount of alcohol ingested that night, Jehan’s by the heaviness of the today's tragedy.

With them gone the atmosphere becomes even heavier, reminding Enjolras how much they all depend on Courfeyrac optimism. Usually he doesn’t need to say anything, his presence alone, carrying so much light, making everyone feel relaxed. Even though Enjolras is their leader, Courfeyrac is the one everyone depends on- he is the one link connecting them all together, keeping them close. He lives with Marius, is one of Grantaire’s best friends and the reason he and Enjolras met, he works with Feuilly and shares some classes with Jehan. Deep down Enjolras is sure that if Courfeyrac was about to leave them, they would all fall apart. Their group is like a patchwork, everyone so different and unique in their own way and Courfeyrac is the thread that stitched them together.  
Combeferre takes Jehan’s place by Enjolras side, gently patting his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, but there is a reassuring look in his eyes. He lets Enjolras know that he’s there for him. And although it’s not much, it’s enough to make them both feel better.

“I’m making tea. Does anyone want some?” Eponine clasps her hands alertly and fakes a really flimsy smile.

“Tea? Seriously Ponine?” snorts Grantaire.

“We are British, aren’t we? This is how we deal with trauma.”

“Make one for me, but remember that I don’t…”

“… Take any sugar or milk, I know that Marius,” winks Eponine leaving for the kitchen.

“I’ll help you,” offers Bossuet.

After Bossuet spills two cups of tea and breaks the third one, managing to make Cosette laugh, they sit in a circle, sipping their drinks in utter silence. Enjolras knows that they are all waiting for him to flip out, stealing glances at him from time to time, but their worry is unnecessary- he is too numb to do anything but stare blankly at the TV.

“I knew this whole believing in a fucking cause will get someone killed” mutters Grantaire into his cup.

Everyone freezes, shocked by his words, not knowing how to react. The room is heavy with suspense.

Something inside Enjolras snaps and he starts to quiver, the oncoming storm appearing in his eyes.

“Don’t listen to him, he doesn’t mean it, he is drunk,” hurries Eponine, panic running through her face.

“I do mean it. This is what you get for trying to change the world. And if you keep on following Lamarque’s path, you are going to end up like him, bleeding out in the middle of the street with no one coming to your rescue.”

Grantaire crosses the line without batting an eyelid. Enjolras clenches his teeth and marches to him with an intent of a murder shadowing his all of steps.

“Get... Out... Now...” Every word is drawled, frosted with disdain.

When Grantaire doesn’t make any attempt to remove himself from the floor, Enjolras literally grabs him by the sweater and throws him out of the apartment.

“Enough is enough Grantaire. This is the last time you set a foot in my flat. You are no more welcome here,” he adds before slamming the door behind him.

Les Amis gasp in unison- all taken aback, not sure whose side to take. Cosette shifts uncomfortably in Marius’ arms, Joly climbs on Musichetta lap and Bahorel whistles, wicked smile appearing on his lips.

“My oh my, that really was something Enj, feeling a little bit dictatorial today, are we?”

Enjolras looks like an angry bull now, furiously grasping for air.

“You don’t need to throw me out, I will leave on my own will. Feuilly, are you coming?”

Bahorel’s best friend nods slightly and stands up from the couch.

“I think it’s our time to go as well,” says Bossuet picking Musichetta up from the floor.

“Take care Enj, everything will be alright” he adds, pulling Enjolras for a quick hug.

“Call us if you need anything,” offers Joly in a small voice.

❈❈❈

Eponine and Cosette stay the longest, leaving only when the dawn colors the blinders pink. Combeferre is fast asleep by that time, so Enjolras closes the door behind them and tastes the bitter flavor of loneliness. Funny how the loss of one person can make the whole world so empty.

Enjolras’ bed is cold and uninviting, but he lies down anyway. The day started so well, why did it have to end like this?

 _Your ideals won’t keep you warm at night,_ Lamarques words echoes in Enjolras’ ears like a bad song.

_You are going to end up like him, bleeding out in the middle of the street, with no one coming to your rescue._

Those words shouldn’t cause him so much pain, yet they do. They cut deep, leaving more scars than any others. However, the worst thing is not that they are not true-it’s that they are. They hit too close to home and Enjolras knows it.

He rolls over the other side, terrifying tightness in his chest growing. He’s not going to sleep tonight, the voices in his head won’t let him.

❈❈❈

Grantaire kicks the beer can frantically, redounding words leaving bad aftertaste in his mouth. He reaches for another drink, but his hand misses the bottle, falling flabbily on the table. The image of Enjolras’ angry face is tattooed to his eyelids, more vivid with every blink of an eye.  
Grantaire knows he went too far, he shouldn’t have said it, not today and most definitely not like this. But the truth is, he really believes that Enjolras will get himself killed. It’s this petrifying, body-aching thought that keeps him awake at night. He recalls the countless times he imagined his friend getting killed by crazy homophobes or some political-obsessed psychos. Enjolras is in the spotlight, he gets enough recognition to have enemies. It’s only a matter of time before they turn vicious. Grantaire wasn’t born yesterday, he knows what people are capable of. That’s why he said what he said today- he wasn’t mocking Enjolras, he was trying to warn him. To _protect_ him. But as usual it all blew up in Grantaire’s face.

 _This is the last time you set a foot in my flat._ Enjolras has never said that before, he has never kicked Grantaire out before either.  
"Just my luck," he smiles dryly, taking another gallop of whiskey. At least the alcohol won’t kick him out, he can rely on that. With a bottle of booze by his side, he can never be lonely.

**Author's Note:**

> Since I'm beta-less now, there must be gazillion of mistakes here- I'm so, so sorry, but it's been a week since I've finnished this part and I got tired of waiting for my beta.  
> You have no idea how many times I' ve sung "Lamarque is dead. Lamarque! His death is the hour of fate." while writing this chapter... my flatmate was not amused.  
> Oh and for some reason my Lamarque looks like Ian McKellen. And speaks like him, yeah my Lamarque is basically Ian McKellen.  
> Sorry for all the mistakes, no matter how much I try english doesn't want to become my first language.  
> LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH  
> xxx  
> PS. Have I mentioned how sorry I am for all the mistakes?


End file.
